


And There Shall Be Riches

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [45]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 16:01:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A story his father once told him - that's all it was til Andrew got that letter.  Now, it has him worrying just a bit, wondering about people, and about riches and how they can sometimes mess things up.  But all of that is put out of his mind when a simple trip up to the sluice and a hunt for that rascally Duggan turns deadly.





	And There Shall Be Riches

"Mail? But didn't we just get the mail run just a couple of weeks ago?" Andrew asked.

"Yes, but Shjean thought it important this get to you without delay, and Ian was happy enough to make a detour."

"Ian was happy to get a chance at Maudie's cooking, you mean," came the chuckling reply from the smiling Ian, where he was making his way through a plate of chicken, floating in a rich gravy, with big fluffy dumplings and bacon-simmered flat beans to the side.

"The mail packet, that was a good excuse, and you should know Devin and I flipped a coin for the honors. See, Maudie, your reputation's spreading," he grinned at the grey haired woman sitting at the end of the table, as he reached for another biscuit - the puffy bread kind, Caeide having developed a weakness for them during one of their musical jaunts in the southern states of the US. Maude originally had been rather skeptical when she made them at Caeide's request, using a recipe Caeide had provided, but she'd noticed just how fast they disappeared from the platter, and they appeared regularly now. 

"Yes, well, you'd be welcome at the table even when you're not doing a delivery, you know that, Ian," she told him, pleased at the compliment.

Andrew opened the packet; usually Caeide did the secretarial duties for him, and now for Peter as well, sorting and handling his mail, but since this had come directly from Shjean, he figured it'd be something he should be seeing anyway. He read the first page, frowned and they could see his eyes to back to the top to start over. No one asked; living so closely in each other's laps, they made a strong effort to give each other privacy where they could.

Finally, he made his way to the other pages, worked his way through them, and folded them and put them back in the envelope, leaving it at the side of his plate.

"Andrew, there's close to another cup of coffee left in the pot. W'at'll you give me for it?" came from Peter, teasingly, knowing how his Andrew did relish a nice cup of coffee, usually looking a little disappointed when the pot ran dry.

"What will it cost me?" Andrew asked, his face somehow tired, maybe bitter, his voice more remote, more chilled than they'd often heard it.

"Well, a bit of a smile would be nice; oh, and there's more of the apple tart if you'd like that to go with," Peter replied, his gaze steady, kind, not taking offence; he, of all people, wasn't one with any room to complain about someone being a little moody.

Andrew looked at him, and slowly he warmed, slowly smiled, as if bringing himself back to a reality he'd forgotten for a few minutes. "Yes, please, to both," and received the cup and saucer with something approaching his usual eagerness.

Later, Peter asked Caeide, "any idea w'at that was all about? Seems to 'ave given 'im a bit of a turn."

She nodded, "yes, it did, didn't it. And no, I haven't a clue; he'll tell us if he wants us to know, I imagine. I just hope it's not something worrisome for him; he does tend to fret, you know."

"I know; I wish 'e wouldn't; don't do no good," came the reply from the world's biggest worrier, earning him an amused look from the one usually charged with teasing him out of his worry. Well, these days, she shared that responsibility with Andrew, but she still bore the brunt of it.

"I was kinda snippy and mean to him, Angie; I think I need to apologize for that. Just, after reading what Shjean sent me, for a minute I forgot where I was, who I was with. Boy, those cousins! They have their nerve, that's all I can say! Shjean and his crew must be every bit as good as Caeide said, if they were able to figure all that out."

"I remember my dad telling us that story, about him and his friend coming across those guys, up in the Turtle Mountains, where they'd gotten lost and hurt and run outta food and everything, and had to just about carry them out. It's been a long time though; I'm surprised he remembered. Well, not that he remembered what HAPPENED; of course, you'd remember someone saving your life. But for him to want to DO something about it, when he could, that's a surprise."

He paused, leaning his head against Angie's broad shoulder. She nuzzled him, encouraging him to get back to brushing her with that heavy brush that felt so good. He gave a little chuckle, "yeah, I know, I should get back to the important things, right?" He started the slow, steady stroking again, and she shivered with contentment, letting out a nicker that showed her appreciation.

"Well, I mean, a lotta people out there, would have been grateful, sure, at the time, but not really remembered too much later on. Yeah, I know, you don't understand that, but you only know the people here, you've not been out there, met the other ones. Like my cousins. You should probably be glad of that, Angie; I don't think you'd like them. They're really not very nice people." 

He heard the footsteps coming up behind him, recognized them, and a warm smile of anticipation came to his face knowing the voice he'd be hearing, even being pretty sure of the words.

"You doing alright, Andrew? You and Angie 'aving a good natter, are you?" and Andrew grinned, having guessed right on both counts.

Peter wouldn't quiz him about his earlier words and attitude; he'd hardly do that considering all they'd put up with from HIM and HIS moods! But he'd not let it go without checking to be sure Andrew was okay, either; looking out for Andrew, making sure Andrew was okay, that was a habit, one he wasn't likely to break, or want to either.

"Yeah, she's a good listener, you know, and a pretty good talker; just I can't always figure out what she's saying, but that's me, not her."

"Caeide and me, we're 'eaded up to the stock barn, for the evening milking. Wanna come along?"

"Sure!" Andrew said, setting the brush aside and giving Angie one last pat, and together they headed back toward the path, where Caeide waited, buckets and wheeled cart hitched with old Moll. 

He enjoyed the milking; he wasn't very good at it, his hands were slow to learn the rhythm, but he was improving. You'd think a farm boy would have it down pat, but his Mom had always liked to do that herself, at least when they still had a milk cow. Still, he enjoyed the whole experience, the warm barn, the soft musty smell of the cows, the sweetness of the hay in the feed mangers, the easy way Peter and Caeide set about the process, never impatient or harsh with the animals, always taking time for a head rub or shoulder pat, washing the udders in warm water before and after, the gentle drying to prevent chapping. He really liked the look and smell of that rich creamy milk, destined to become butter and cheese and soups and cream for his coffee, and, well, just milk! He finished with his cow, just in time to see them finishing with the last of their four each.

He flushed, "I thought I was getting better," to get their indulgent smiles. His goal was to do two at least, but obviously that wasn't going to happen today!

"And you are, laddie, but you sort of drifted off there, awhile, in the middle. Lotus, there, she was looking at you a bit oddly, wondering why you just stopped."

He grinned at them, "I was just thinking how nice this is, all of it," but laughed and didn't bother to explain what he meant, though the looks on their faces showed their bewilderment. 

The trip back was nice, too; Caeide drove the cart, he and Peter walked along side, the sounds of the coming evening surrounding them. Angie whinied her own goodnight as they passed, and they called to her in return.

Andrew's thoughts went back to that little hand-sized Angie-horse Caeide had made and sent to him in the camp; stuffed with the combings from Angie's winter coat, knit from the wool of her sheep, dyed with herbs from the hills around Haven; she'd even made a little saddle from a scrap of one of her colorful robes. He'd treasured that little horse, kept it under his pitiful excuse for a pillow; had loaned it to Peter on one occasion when the older man had had trouble getting to sleep. Peter had taken it, admitted it had helped, that little bit of Haven in his hands, but had been sure to slip it back to him without anyone seeing; Andrew could get away with sleeping with a stuffed animal; Peter, well, not so much.

She hadn't made it home with him, that little horse; she'd disappeared one day, and though he had searched, even Peter had searched, she'd never turned up. He had his suspicions about what had happened, but well, even if he'd been right, and it was a bit of payback from someone you'd have thought would be above such, he knew he wouldn't get much sympathy over a little stuffed toy. Except from Peter; he'd known just how much that toy meant. He had thanked Caeide when she sent it to him, well, as best he could, considering he couldn't let Hogan know where it came from, any more than Peter could let him know where those ever-useful salves really came from. {"I should tell her, now; let her know I remember, how much that meant,"} and nodded his head firmly, resolving to do just that. 

He intended to tell them about the letter from Shjean; the question was, when? He didn't want to do it after they'd all settled down in Caeide's big bed; he figured it'd just get them all worked up and angry, and mess up their sleep. During a meal just didn't see right; Maudie put a lot of effort into putting good food on the table, and it deserved proper attention and respect. Especially the desserts, {"boy, she makes really great desserts. But her bread is really good, too. And no one can do chicken like she does. I even like that mutton stew, though I wasn't sure I would. Yeah, Maudie really can cook,"} his mind drifting off the subject of the letter once again. Somehow, even that one drink they all shared in the evening, that didn't seem to be right for the telling. So, it didn't get told, not then.

He sent a letter to Shjean in reply, thanking him, giving him instructions, all that, and let it slide from his mind. Maybe a part of him didn't WANT to tell them, being unsure how they'd take it, whether it would make a difference in how they saw him, in his place here.

****

"Bloody git! Bloody stupid git!" Somehow, something in the way Peter was snarling, well, along with those words, of course, told her the rangy Brit was not having the best of days. He'd found the open gate to the pasture where Duggan was kept, well, supposedly kept, Duggan not being one to stay put no matter what locks or latches they devised. No sign of the big ram, of course, though he'd corralled the half dozen ewes easily enough and got them tucked safely away. On his way back to the house to tell the others, he saw the steam of water that fed the stock was not a stream anymore, more a trickle, which meant trouble up at the sluice.

"Some days, it don't seem worth getting outta bed!" he groaned, not that he meant that, remembering all too well the long many days when he'd first arrived here when he'd not been ABLE to get out of bed, when he wondered if he ever would. Still, as an expression, it rather hit the spot he thought. He snarled again, and aimed a kick at the bottom step, getting only a bruised foot out of it, the step moving not at all of course. 

"Problems, dear?" came with an amazingly straight face from the redhead unloading tins of freshly milled flour from the cart pulled up to the far end of the porch. She was more than a little disheveled, Peter saw with a grin.

"Now I know what you'll look like when you're ninety!" he laughed, his mood changing, at least for the moment.

She looked at him with a puzzled frown, then caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of the kitchen door. She laughed right along with him, "yes, well, the mill was a bit cranky and spit out more dust than usual. I took the burrs out, and the gears and have them in the cart to grind down the edges before we need to use it again."

She looked again in the glass; her hair was white with only traces of the deep red showing through, her face pale with the dust, and her clothes! Well, she was glad he'd said something; she was too tired to have noticed, too anxious for a hot cup of coffee and a bit of a sit-down, and Maudie would have had something to say about her bringing all of this in with her!

Peter knew as well, and he stuck his head in the door, "can someone bring the ever so fine and dainty mistress of Haven a towel, 'er 'airbrush, and a robe out onto the porch? She's gotten a trifle mussed." and within a few minutes, which Peter used to good advantage, enough so that his own clothes had a quite a bit of flour dust on them, as well as his nose and lips, Marisol came out with the requested items. She took in the sight, both Caeide and the now besmeared Peter, and laughed.

"Here, girl, let's get you cleaned up. No, Peter, you just go about your business, and you might have a bit of a wipe down yourself," dashing the towel at his grinning face. He managed to at least smear the flour around, before she took the towel away and did a proper job.

"Haven't you something to be doing?" she asked him, with a grin. That brought his mind back to business with a resounding thud.

He groaned mightily. "Yes, and thank you for reminding me. I've got to go figure out what's wrong with the bloody sluice; water's at a trickle. AND, to find that bloody, bloody woolly bastard that you were so misguided to name Duggan instead of 'bloody git', like you should 'ave!"

The two women exploded with laughter, Caeide protesting Duggan had been named by Maeve, not her, and she, for one, had no intention of riding through the hills calling out 'bloody git, blood git.' No, if she had to be calling for him, she felt much more comfortable calling 'Duggan'.

"Yes, but it don't suit 'im nearly so well," came from a still annoyed Peter.

He rounded up Andrew, who'd been bringing in firewood, and the two of them saddled the horses and set off for the head of the spring, hoping to get a glimpse of Duggan on the way. It was only later, when they hadn't called in and the dinner hour was approaching that she started to do some fretting of her own. When she went to the small area off the pantry to get to the radio and call them, she saw the two radios that they should have had strapped to the back of their saddles still firmly in their brackets, and her fretting and worrying really set in.

It shouldn't have been this difficult, it really shouldn't have. Peter again thought back to this morning, when he'd told himself that some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed. He was beginning to think this really was one of those days.

They'd ridden up to the sluice, and got it cleared out so that the water was flowing clean and strong again, though they'd both gotten soaked in the doing and were chilled through, the day being overcast and not as warm as some they'd had recently. Andrew had spotted Duggan's tracks, said they were fresh, though Peter couldn't really tell, and followed them toward the cliffs. 

They stopped to investigate a strip of fencing that was down, rails slid up and out of their notches and not for any good reason they could tell; then, the flattened grass indicated someone had been there, and it hadn't been any of them. Haven was posted, just for the benefit of the odd passerby, of which there were few; the village and surrounding homesteads, well they just KNEW Haven was off limits, to hunting, fishing or just general roaming.

They were more cautious after that; they made their way through the gap, taking time to put it back into place. He reached for the pack on the back of the saddle, thinking to give Caeide the alert as to possible intruders. It was then Peter realized they'd forgotten the radios, and silently cursed.

"Andrew, you'd best 'ead back, let 'er know . . ." only to hear the ominous sound of guns being cocked.

"Don't think that's gonna happen, buddy," came a harsh voice. He felt more than saw Andrew react, realizing and called to him, "Andrew, no!" only to hear the shot, and he was off his own horse, racing to get to the slight still figure on the ground. The butt of a gun alongside his skull stopped him before he got two steps, and soon there were two silent figures in the dust.

"Whata we do now, Chuck? Someone's gonna be missing these two."

"Well, they can be missing them, they ain't gonna be finding them though," the leader snarled at them.

At his direction the two men were slung over their own saddles and the small group made their way further into the cliffs. Near the peak, Chuck looked down; yeah, there to their left was a gully, only deeper and more rugged, more a crevasse.

"This'll do. Get em off, dump em over the side. By the time anyone finds them, if they ever do, we'll be long gone."

Peter and Andrew were tipped over the side, and the four men mounted the horses, two in the saddles, two riding behind, and continued over the peak, away from Haven, away from the train station where they'd jumped down from a flatcar as the train stopped to offload supplies.They hadn't intended to leave the train here, in the freaking middle of nowhere, but they'd seen the guards searching the train two cars ahead, and wanted to avoid a confrontation.

The chestnut mares had been much easier to lead than they were to ride, now that the two locals had been discarded, not seeming to want to go any further, and the men were cursing as they jerked the reins to get them in the right direction and going up the last few feet to the top of the cliff; from there, they could see a village in the far distance.

"Come on, we can steal some food there, maybe a car; get the hell out of this place and on. Heard there's a nice little bank in Llandro; probably as easy a job as that last one!" and with a coarse laugh, jerked the reins once more and dug his heels into the side of the mare.

The four deserters had been living off such little jobs since they'd decided they didn't really want to go back to the States, not when the military had a whole bevy of charges against them waiting to be resolved. It had been fairly slim pickings til recently, and their last job had left them with their descriptions being circulated further south, hence their fast move northwards on that train. Now, though, in a new territory, they felt sure their luck was about to change.

No doubt about it, their luck was just bound to change!

"Bloody 'ell! Andrew? Andrew!"

It was near dark now, when Peter came to, shaking a groggy head before he realized that was a really stupid thing to be doing, as the world spun madly for a few minutes. He could barely make out the crumpled figure near him; they'd landed on a ledge, not gone all the way to the bottom of the crevasse, which was good since it looked to his blurry eyes not to even HAVE a bottom. A faint moan came back in the still air, and he crawled very carefully along the ledge, pausing, swallowing deeply as the edge crumbled with his weight, pressing as far into the cliffside to his right as he could.

"Don't move, Andrew, I'm coming, but just don't move."

"I don't think I can, Peter; I can't seem to get anything to move," came the scared whisper.

Peter went still inside, still and sick, not wanting to think of what that could mean. He licked his very dry lips and continued his way, inching along, praying he wouldn't end up bringing the whole ledge down, or tumbling over the side, leaving Andrew there alone and hurt. He finally reached the wiry body, touched him gently, "all right mate, made it. Now, let's 'ave a look."

What seemed like hours later, he sat back, shivering in the damp, cold night air. He'd shredded his shirt, using the material to bind the smaller man's wounds, the gunshot that had left a deep graze alongside his skull, the savage cut on his shoulder when he'd come afoul of one of the many rocks or boulders on the way down, and to tie the broken leg to a fairly straight piece of branch he'd found by crawling over it in his way across the ledge. He'd come close to tossing that into the crevasse to get it out of his way; he now thanked his lucky stars he hadn't.

Andrew had long since passed out; Peter eased him into an upright position, pulling him into his arms to try to keep him warm. {"Caeide luv, now would be a really good time for you to find us,"} he thought, knowing she'd have no way of knowing where they were, only that by this time, she'd be right worried over them not being back inside that snug kitchen, telling her of their trials and tribulations in their search for Duggan and fixing whatever had gone wrong with the sluice. Andrew was shivering in his arms, and he himself was shaking even more, and his head felt like it was going to explode. He found himself whispering it out loud, "Caeide luv, now would be a really good time for you to find us. Please? Please?"

Andrew murmured in his arms, and he leaned his aching head forward, "what, Andrew?"

"Never did it, should have done it . . ." came the fretful whisper from the man in his arms.

"Done what, luv? Don't fret, you can do it later, you'll get it done, no worries," not having any idea what Andrew was talking about, but wanting to reassure him somehow.

Andrew lay there, familiar strong arms tight around him, bare arms, for some reason, thought the night was really cold.

He shivered, "those lists. The one Caeide made, you made, all the things you love about me. I kept intending to make my own, you know; never did. Should have."

"Well, when we get you back 'ome, you can just put that on your agenda, Andrew; one of the first things, even," he tried to comfort his injured friend, his luv.

He felt Andrew's head shake, "no, I don't think so. But I wanted to - you and Caeide and Maude and Marisol - all the things . . ." and in a voice that kept getting weaker and weaker, he poured out his heart, and the taller man holding him listened, tears now running down his face, {"Caeide luv, I think you need to 'urry now! Our Andrew needs you to 'urry!"}

She'd left the homestead before full dark, left them on high alert, house locked up tight, their own weapons at the ready, a radio in the middle of the table, hers tied at her waist. She'd pulled Angus in from his pasture, mounted up, rifle in the saddle holster, revolver at her waist, pencil sharpener in its usual position in the slit of her trousers. She took a fast inventory of what she was taking, "battery lights, two canteens of water, flask of whiskey, fry bread and meat patties in a pouch, two coils of rope, blankets, med kit," she counted off. So many things could have happened, so many things she needed to be prepared to deal with, and likely no time to come back for what she'd overlooked. She dashed back in for the compass and the small map of Haven and the surrounding lands; she had an excellent sense of direction, especially here, but you never knew. A fast hug from Maude and Marisol and she was off.

They'd been as worried as she was, their worry increasing when they saw she was headed out. Marisol asked, anxiety in her tight voice, "but where will you even look??"

They knew she couldn't use Estelle, who had picked that evening to start delivering her latest batch of pups. She wanted to reassure them, but knew this was hardly time to explain their possible ace-in-the-hole, her Wolf. There was no time to deal with explanations, their disbelief, possible their terror. No time.

So she waited til she was up the path where she was out of their sight; Angus, a tall chestnut gelding, was accustomed to her as Wolf; she'd always thought it was wise in the beginning to have a couple of the horses, at least, comfortable with her in both forms; now she made sure they all were. She stopped, undressed, tucked her clothes into the pack, the radio and weapons secured to the saddle, shifted, and with Angus on a long rein held in her teeth, she started tracking them. Together they moved at a good clip, all the way up to the sluice, then down the side track to the strip of fencing, which she used her strong nose to nudge out a couple of its slats to let Angus through, on toward the cliffs.

She paused where she smelled the others, where she smelt the gunpower residue, the blood - both Andrew's and Peter's, though much more of Andrew's; she let out a deep snarl that promised no good for the strangers, and she raced onward, Angus pounding behind her. She left Angus at the base of the cliff, him knowing to wait for her call or for her return, and made her way to where she smelled them, them, not just their trace but actually them. 

She leaned her great furry head over the edge of the crevasse, and saw them huddled together down below. She Changed, calling to Angus with a whistle and he came, making his way carefully in the rocky slope. She hurried back into her clothes, unpacked the rope, the battery lamp and the duffle with supplies. Angus provided the weight she needed to lower herself down, battery lamp lighting her way. Down, down, . . .

Called his name, their names, to hear a raspy voice, "Caeide luv, the ledge isn't sturdy; it could give way under any more weight." She stopped her descent, and turned the battery lamp to get a better feel for where they were; yes, just about three feet to her left! She shifted slightly, bracing herself, telling Angus to hold.

"Give me a report Peter!" and he did, though with an inward chuckle he couldn't believe he'd be capable of, at the way she took command. {"Well, bloody glad she is, I sure as bloody 'ell can't, or Andrew!"}. He gave her what he knew, the extent of Andrew's injuries, trying to pass over his own, though knowing he'd have little luck with that once the immediate crisis was passed.

"Alright, we'll get Andrew up first. I'm going back up, getting Angus right above you, and will come back down. I can use the long rein to put together a harness; you'll get him tightly in that, hand him up to me and Angus will pull us up. YOU, my laddie, will strap yourself to the second rope I'll send down, and you will do it BEFORE you get Andrew into the harness, before you hand Andrew up to me. You understand me, Peter??!" and he heaved a deep sigh, knowing to protest wasting that bit of time when she could use it getting Andrew up to safety, well, it would do no good, not with her. She had her 'Brat' voice in full play, and he knew full well what THAT meant!

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, {"stubborn, high-handed managing female!"}, with a bit of rueful chuckle as to the number of times THAT thought had passed through his head through the years! By then she was back, dangling just above them, handing him down the harness, the second rope. He tied the second rope around his middle; there was much more slack in it than the one she was dangling from, her not wanting to even touch that ever so unstable ledge. He got Andrew settled in tightly, and carefully stood to hand the slighter man up to her, not liking the trembling that came under his feet. Andrew let out a groan, and they both knew they were hurting him, but there was no other option. She lashed Andrew to her tightly, whistled, and Angus started pulling backwards, and the two on the first rope slowly made their way upward.

The rope Peter was held with, it was longer, with more slack, so that the other two could be on solid ground before Angus tried bearing his weight as well, so it was only starting to tighten around him when the others were at the rim and she was pulling Andrew up and over. It was then that the ledge started to crumble and give way, and he felt it disappear under him and he dropped right along with it. He let out a cry at the shock, grabbed onto the rope, and then the breath left his body as the rope tightened around him with one sharp jerk. He would have complained, except when he glanced down to that seemingly endless pit of darkness below him, then he swallowed and thanked goodness for the Brat and her stubborn, high-handed, managing ways.

"Peter??!" came the urgent cry from above, and he managed a gasping, "alright, luv, just a bit squeezed. Ledge is gone, though," and he heard her tiny sob of relief at the sound of his voice.

"Alright, hold on, Angus is bringing you up!" Then he was at the rim, and her strong arms were pulling, and he was laying flat on his back, looking up at her worried face, and behind her face, the deep dark sky and the many many stars present over Haven in any good weather. He'd never discount the sight of those stars again! 

She reached out to untie him, ran the back of her hand over his cheek, and pulled a blanket up and tucked it around him. "I'm going to take a look at Andrew, then we'll decide what to do next," she started to tell him, then realized Peter was no longer listening, was starting to turn and crawl over to Andrew. She shook her head at him, but knew better than to try and stop him. She set Angus to guard, and then to see just how much damage was done, Peter telling her of the intruders as she worked. Well, she'd see to them, if possible, when there was time. For now, these two were her priority. 

A quick call to the homestead let the women there know what to expect, what to prepare for. Trying to move the men in the darkness, that would have been past foolish here in the cliffs. Nevermind the danger of more falls, there was that wild ram that was more than dangerous, adders and scorpions, and she knew to her own sorrow that the wild boars and feral pigs still DID roam this area, no matter what the experts said. She had no intention of leaving them there to get more help, not that there was any to get, and no way to get the cart near here, not in the dark. She arranged with Marisol to call Davie Rhys and Elis Tanner, the blacksmith, asking for their strong arms at first light, warning them there were intruders roaming about, ones with guns and not afraid to use them. She thought they were probably long gone, but she didn't know that for certain, of course.

She used the battery lantern to check the compass, the map and gave the location, the best route, and set about making them as comfortable as she could for the night. Andrew took a little water, Peter did the same, neither being able to stomach the sight of food, which she knew would be true if they had concussions, which she though more than likely.

They were together, the two of them, shoulders touching, reclining against the warm body of Angus, who she had gotten to lie down, wrapped in the blankets. She Changed, knowing she could better protect them as Wolf, and draped herself over and around them as much as possible, making sure to avoid Andrew's broken leg, lending them her warmth as well. Some creatures came to investigate, none too dangerous, none interested in challenging her, and the hours slowly passed.

She felt their hands on her, sometimes just wrapped in her fur, sometimes stroking her gently. Peter talked to Andrew consistently, and to her for part of the night, telling her, among other things, about Andrew being so worried about not making his own lists. She chuffed, the best she could do in the way of a laugh, {"bless him, we'll have to be sure he has pen and paper, when he's able to deal with such."} Peter was starting to drift more, not talking so clearly, and she worried about that hard thump he'd gotten to the head, and wondered just what other damages they'd find when they got him home; he'd not claimed any to be of importance, but that was just Peter, she knew. She'd asked him to stay awake, to keep talking to Andrew, since she obviously couldn't. She knew that would have much more likelihood of keeping him awake than her telling him the truth, that she thought he might have a concussion. 

She heard them, the jingle of the harness in the gloom of the pre-dawn. {"Bless them, they wasted no time! They must have left Haven in the full dark!"} She Changed, got dressed hurriedly, and quickly checked on the men. Neither seemed any worse than they had last night, though neither tried to move, and only Peter answered her when she spoke to him, and not with any great clarity. She made her way to the base of the cliff in time to meet them, and their worried faces relaxed a bit to see her.

Usually Haven was self-sufficient, but just as Haven helped the others when there was need, there were those who were glad to help when Haven put out the call. Davie Rhys and Elis Tanner were two of those, and she was never so glad to see them, along with Marisol at their side! She quickly told them what had happened, and together they worked to bring the two injured men down the rocky trail and place them in the bed of the cart. She collected the various supplies and such, tucked those beside them, tied Angus on a loose rein to the cart and climbed up along side them where Marisol was crouching. Together they headed back to the homestead, where Maude awaited.

Maude, bless her, had taken it upon herself to let Davie Rhys know there were injuries, and the village doctor was waiting. He was too old to be jostling around in the cliffs, but together he and Maude and the others, got the two upstairs and settled and tended. Yes, Andrew's leg was broken, but it was a simple break, and soon set and wrapped and splinted properly. The doctor frowned and tssk'd over the two head wounds, but cleaned and wrapped them, leaving instructions for their tending, not seeing Maude rolling her eyes behind him, as if this wasn't something she and the others had known for most of their lives. Andrew's gash had been cleaned and packed and stitched, the additional cuts and bruises Peter had managed to obtain during the encounter and after, including the jerking from the rope when the ledge collapsed, and finally, they were both settled to rest. Maudie had the herbs ready, the tea steeping for Peter's lungs, knowing a night in the damp cold air would have done him no good, no matter all the rest, and had made enough for a good dose for Andrew as well, just to be on the safe side.

The two were settled in the invalid room, the three women grateful for the foresight that caused them to leave it in place after the day at the fair had caused both Andrew and Marisol to become so ill. They'd never even moved out the two single beds to replace it with one bigger, as Caeide had thought to do. Now, with Caeide settled into the rocking chair, watching over them as they moved in fitful sleep, she was grateful for that.

"You should let me stay, you got no sleep last night, I'm sure of that," Marisol offered in a whisper.

"I couldn't sleep, not now, Mari. I'll stay awhile. Get your rest; we'll take turns," and with a warm smile, "we're getting good at that, aren't we?"

They were well on the road to recovery, other than a lingering headache for both of them if they bent over too quickly, and of course, the healing broken leg. Caeide had remembered what Peter had told her, about Andrew being so worried about the lists, and once he was sitting up, chattering, enjoying company again, having Estelle's three pups take turns on the bed with him, Charlie and Lucy tucked up on the end, she brought him a small lapdesk, pad of lined paper and pencil. He raised his brows, "what did you need me to do?" and she smiled, "Peter said you were worried because you felt you had left something undone. I thought you might want . . ." and his eyes got big as he remembered.

"Yeah, I do. And, Caeide, I have something I've been meaning to tell you," and she settled down to sit on the bed beside him while he told her of that little stuffed horse and all it had meant, and when he was finished, they both had tears in their eyes, and she gathered him to her very gently in a hug, "thank you, Andrew. Thank you for telling me."

She remembered that little horse as well, all the love and care she'd poured into the making of it. Peter found them like that, and he wondered, but decided not to interrupt the moment and backed away into the hallway. Caeide made up her mind that in the holiday packages, she'd just make sure there was another little Angie horse; aye, maybe even two, one for each of her lads! Yes, Peter would laugh at her, but she rather thought he might like it, anyway. She knew Andrew would.

And Andrew made his lists, one for each of them, and then another list, of the many things Haven had given him, continued to give him, and all the other things he was grateful for, that made him feel rich. He frowned over that word, knowing it wasn't quite right, puzzled over it til he finally found the right word, smiling to himself in relief that he'd finally gotten it right. Like Peter had done, he kept a copy for himself of each list, and handed the list for each of his family to them in an envelope. The other list, well he made two copies of that as well, though he wasn't sure why; it was pretty much just for himself. {"Well, if I ever need it, it'll be like Caeide's journal, there and waiting."}

Davie Rhys and Elis Tanner showed up with two chestnut mares in leading reins. Caeide ran to them and stroked them, crooning to them, welcoming them home again, and from the nuzzling she got in return, most glad they were to be home. With shining eyes she asked the men, "however did you find them?" and they laughed.

Elis suggested, "show me where these brave girls go, we'll get them settled and then lead me to a drink. I want to tell this tale to the lot of you, and I think a drink is in order." She gladly complied, and brought them in through the kitchen door and up the stairs to the invalid room where Andrew was still spending his time. She called to the others and everyone gathered, either on the edge of the bed, or in the rocking chair, or in straight chairs pulled in from the office next door. For Elis, they turned the loveseat to face the bed, with his bulk and height and the false leg, none of the chairs would have suited as well.

And she poured out a drink for everyone, and they settled in to tell the story. Of how two chestnut mares had appeared in the village over the cliffs, and luckily were taken to the blacksmith there, the one finding them being the honest sort. He'd recognized them as Haven-bred, the dappled chestnuts from Haven becoming quite well-known in these parts. Both had some slight injuries, and were tired and dusty, and with more than a bit of blood caked into their hair, and the saddles empty and bloodstained as well. The constable there backtracked, concerned, thinking the Haven crew must have run into trouble, and found the spot where the four men lay, all strangers, all well trampled, skulls crushed, just over the rise from where they'd dumped Peter and Andrew. They'd been dead before Caeide had left Haven to start her search, probably well before Peter had regained consciousness.

The constable had collected the bodies and immediately called to Davie Rhys, who acted as liaison with the surrounding areas, this village having no constable of their own. Davie had told the story, the intruders, the injuries to Haven's own, the theft of the horses, and the deaths were put down to misadventure and criminal stupidity, just another example of what was likely to befall those who took Haven too lightly; soon the horses were back with Elis Tanner at the smithy, who, together with Davie undertook to return them home.

"But, they're so gentle!" Andrew said with a shocked look, knowing those two mares, Angie's daughters, quite well.

Caeide laughed softly, "Andrew, they're gentle with those they love; they are gentle with those they know and trust; they're gentle with those we ask them to be gentle with. With outsiders, those they saw hurt our own, hurt you and Peter, well, I doubt gentle would be the best word! I imagine after you two were removed from their saddles, it was just a matter of minutes before their tempers showed through."

>p>And Peter had snickered loudly, and then laughed, "well, they are 'aven ladies, aren't they, and we all know how THEY are," with a knowing grin at Caeide, and everyone had laughed. And they all raised their glasses, "to the ladies!" and Caeide knew she'd be giving those two a special hot mash with their evening meal! 

It took another two mail calls before Andrew used that special list he'd made. Another packet from Shjean, a letter, a small slip of paper. He opened it, read it, looked at the slip of paper and turned dead white.

"Andrew?" Caeide asked in alarm, "Andrew, are you alright?" and she rushed to get him a glass of water. The others waited, anxious for him to reply, Peter with that frantic look he tended to get when anything was wrong with his Andrew. The young man drank the water, looked at the slip of paper again, and looked at Peter.

"Peter, I'll be right back, I have to go get something. And I think we'll need a drink. Please?" and Peter hurried to get the glasses, a bottle of Scotch, one of bourbon, having finally come to accept that for Caeide, Scotch was bitter medicine, not a comfort or a pleasure, not understanding it, mind you, but accepting it. Glasses filled, Andrew back at the table, taking a sip to steady himself. He took a deep breath and started.

"Remember how when I first got here and there was all the trouble with the cousins? How I said I didn't know what they thought to gain, and Caeide set Shjean to trying to find out? Well, he managed it."

And he told the story of his dad and his dad's friend, Running Elk, and the men whose lives they saved so many years ago.

"And Mr. Callen, well, he remembered; he never had much, traveled around, did some prospecting for gold, looked for oil, really never found much of anything. But, he finally did, he found oil, but by then he was pretty old and pretty sick. He didn't have any family, but he remembered back over his years, the friends he'd made, people who'd helped him, and he remembered my dad and Running Elk. Running Elk died a few years ago and didn't have a family; well, he did, but his wife died and his daughter too, so there wasn't anyone left."

"Anyhow, he made his will and it said everything he owned had to be sold and divided up, and he left a list, and my dad's name and Running Elk's name were on the list with some other people. Mr Callen died a couple of months before the war was over, and the lawyers came looking for my dad, and found out he'd been dead a few years, talked to my cousins, since my mom had just passed, and said it would take a few months for everything to be settled, but since my dad was dead, it would go to his son, but it was a 'finite bequest', that it wouldn't go to anyone else; if I didn't come back from the war, if I died before the money was given out, well, that part that was to go to me would be split between the others who had their own bequest." 

"Shjean says they must have figured if they controlled me somehow, they could control the money. They had a friend of theirs who was a doctor, who was all ready to say I wasn't able to take care of myself, and a judge who was gonna give them guardianship of me and anything I owned."

Caeide and Peter exchanged a forbidding look, which promised less than good things for those two cousins, and Andrew saw.

"No, I told you before, you can't go after them; it's done. I won't have you getting into trouble over all this. Anyway, Shjean took care of it all. It's all settled, and the money, my dad's bequest, has already been transferred." He giggled suddenly, and gave a grin more like his usual.

"Shjean says the lawyers for Mr. Callen says the cousins got in touch with them, tried to convince them I was already their ward and the lawyers should just transfer the money into a trust account they'd set up at the bank; well, the lawyers knew different cause Shjean had already been in contact, had my signature, everything else and the money already being transferred to my own name, and THEY threatened my cousins with attempted fraud and all kinds of other stuff; I would have liked to have seen that!"

"So, it's settled, Andrew? Shjean says you won't 'ave any more trouble from those two rousers?"

"No, none, though he says he'll keep an eye on them, anyway, just in case. He thinks those lawyers, though, are mad enough at what they tried to pull, that THEY'LL keep the cousins busy for a long time, and the doctor and the judge too." 

"Well, that's fine news then! A drink, Andrew luv, to getting those two out of the way, once and for all!" and glasses were raised in hearty agreement.

It was only a goodly amount of time later that Andrew realized and asked, "doesn't anyone want to know how much there was?" cringing just the tiniest bit, remembering his earlier doubts. He didn't THINK he had anything to worry about, but still the reflex was there. Then he got a grin on his face again, {"I DON'T have anything to worry about! This is only money, after all, just riches."} and gave a little chuckle.

His question had raised eyebrows around the table; they each shared any personal things they wanted to share, but tried not to ask questions of the others unless really necessary. He laid the deposit receipt in the middle of the table and then slid it to each in turn. Eyes looked, looked again, and jaws dropped.

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew! Your bleedin' rich, mate!"

He chuckled, "you're right, but that's not important. That's just riches. What's important, guys? I'm WEALTHY!" and he put the list in the middle.

"THIS makes me WEALTHY!" and they read the list, all the things he had, people he knew and had known, all the gifts given to him, all the things that made him feel grateful, feel wealthy. All the things Haven gave him, continued to give him. And their names, being right there at the top, well, that made them feel pretty damned wealthy too.

And the money wasn't mentioned again, until Andrew brought it up; when he wanted to see what could be done to help Louie and Kinch get better settled, wanted to add some of what they sent off to Scotty Wilson on a regular basis. As for Haven, well, it supported itself with the work they did, and they wouldn't hear of him transferring the money into the Haven account, although he did talk them into letting him chip in and get that damned sluice upgraded THIS year, instead of next year like they'd planned and budgeted for. The fewer trips they had to make up to that section, well, he'd be just as glad for that, at least for awhile.


End file.
